


I Will Make Them Fear Instead

by Lumeleo



Category: Monster Prom (Visual Novel)
Genre: Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Injury, M/M, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:09:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27924310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumeleo/pseuds/Lumeleo
Summary: Damien keeps telling Oz he doesn't need to worry, no matter how much trouble he ends up in. When Damien ends up in even more trouble than usual, though, it's up to Oz to save the day.
Relationships: Damien LaVey/Yellow | Oz
Comments: 3
Kudos: 121





	I Will Make Them Fear Instead

It was a truth universally acknowledged by the students of Spooky High that Oz worried too much and Damien did not worry enough. (Also that if you ever saw Polly sober you should make a wish because it’s a fucking miracle, but that’s not relevant to this story.)

There was much theorizing among their friends when the two started dating that this might even out with time, or at least balance each other out. Of course, because logic has no place in this school, this was not what happened. If anything, it seemed Damien had abandoned any attempts at thinking about the consequences of his actions, while Oz was even more worried now that he had a completely carefree boyfriend to worry about. If he hadn’t been an immortal personification, he probably would have died of sheer stress by now.

Damien seemed to find his concern amusing, to the point that Oz sometimes wondered if Damien was trying to make him worry on purpose. Though really, it might have been just Damien living his life with his usual disregard for anything resembling safety, with Oz’s constant concern an unfortunate side product.

“Stop worrying, you shithead,” Damien always said, no matter how reasonable Oz’s concerns might have been. Damien ending up on the bottom of a five-car crash pile on the highway? Stop worrying. Damien stabbing himself in the thigh with scissors when he was frustrated with a hairdo that wasn’t turning out the way he wanted? Stop worrying. Damien deciding to fly to space just to punch the sun, testing the limits of his capacity to withstand fire? Stop worrying!

Of course, the assurances were not nearly enough to make Oz actually, well, stop worrying. Luckily, they both seemed to enjoy the best way to ease his fears, which was checking Damien over for any scrapes and bruises and kissing every one he found. Which was probably not exactly encouraging Damien to be more careful, come to think of it, but it was still much preferable to having Damien downplay his injuries to avoid his fussing.

With all this taken into account, it was no wonder that Oz was instantly concerned when he wasn’t instantly greeted by Damien’s loud voice the moment he walked through the school gates. He was fairly sure Damien wasn’t supposed to be suspended right now, yet he couldn’t find his boyfriend at any of the usual places. No messages on his phone, either, and his attempts to call went unanswered. That was… not usual. Damien was rude, but he also adored attention. Especially attention from Oz.

By the time lunchtime came around, he still hadn’t heard any sounds of excessive violence and/or fire alarms. This was rather impressive in itself, considering those were a rather regular occurrence at Spooky High, but the absence of them definitely meant Damien wasn’t at school. Which, of course, meant that Oz was going to worry.

The great thing about lunch was that it was probably the best opportunity to find the entire friends circle in more or less the same space, even if their actual distribution among tables varied. Taking advantage of this, Oz found the spot with the greatest density of their friends within earshot.

“Where’s Damien?” Oz tried not to sound too worried, but it was hard not to let it bleed into his voice. Various phobias were swarming around his shoulders, craning their inexistent necks to look for any sign of a certain red demon.

“Huh?” Polly blinked, surprised at the question. “He’s not here? Wow, I must be really high, I could’ve sworn I saw him just now!”

“No, Polly, that was Joe the Shy Banshee, he was just covered in blood after the hunting exam.” Vera kept her eyes on her phone, though her snakes looked over at Oz. It was almost more disturbing than being pinned down by her actual gaze. “You didn’t hear? Damien’s kind of busy at home.”

“Not everyone has access to your vast network of spies and gossipmongers, Vera.” Liam rolled his eyes. “Though it is rather concerning that Damien didn’t at least text you, Oz.”

“Text me about what?” The phobias were positively rippling about his shoulders, growing more and more agitated. “Busy with what? What’s going on?”

“Oh, it’s most terrible,” Miranda gasped, inserting herself into the conversation. “I can’t believe there’s an uprising in the 8th Circle! Where’s the respect for rightful rulers?”

“To be fair, King and King LaVey got their thrones by overthrowing the previous regime, so it’s kind of traditional. But following tradition is obviously for losers, so I disapprove on principle.” Liam sniffed. “So, yes, Damien is too busy with all the fighting to come to school.”

“Fighting?” He shouldn’t have worried, Oz knew that. Fighting was what Damien did for fun, fighting and arson. Besides, his dads had conquered their kingdom through ruthless force and brilliant strategy; they would definitely be able to defend it from anyone. But then why had Damien not called him, or at least texted a triumphant war selfie or something? “It’s — how bad is it?”

“Well, it’s Hell, so it’s got to be bad, right?” Polly gave a carefree shrug. “But Damien’s the baddest of all. So he’ll be fine!”

“While I would ordinarily agree with that assessment, I have to admit the data I have been gathering over my network is rather worrisome.” Calculester’s screen was showing a worried expression. “This, combined with the unusual lack of communication between Damien and Oz, means there is a 92.4% chance that Damien is, in fact, in trouble.”

Someone was commenting on how this wasn’t a very big difference from the usual state of affairs, which was Damien being the trouble, but Oz didn’t linger to listen further. He was too busy searching for the closest shadow of deep enough darkness that he could dissolve into it.

After a moment’s frantic searching, Oz managed to disappear into the endless depths of darkness. With darkness being the most primal fear of sentient life, Oz could choose to exist wherever it was deep enough. And, luckily for him, the fires of hell could cast some truly deep shadows of despair.

As Oz gathered himself into corporeal form again on an outcrop gazing over the surroundings of the LaVey castle, his phobias gasped in shock. It was a terrible sight. Not the sort of terrible sight he usually saw in Hell, though, with never-ending flames and tormented souls. No, this time the entire landscape was filled with blood and bodies and ongoing battle, demons of every color fighting each other to death and dismemberment.

Oz caught sight of the LaVey crest, born on the broad chest of Stan LaVey as he stood among a heap of fallen enemies. His horned head was lifted up to the fiery sky, mouth open in an enraged roar.

“Where is my son?!”

Had Oz actually had a functional circulatory system, he was sure his blood would have frozen in his veins.

The sound of another furious roar drew his attention to the other side of the battlefield. A sea of flames obscured his view of the combatants, but there was no way he could have mistaken the distinctive silhouette of Damien’s broken horn against his beloved fire. Not even when Damien was getting swarmed by enemy soldiers, separated from both his fathers by lengths of blood-soaked ground and furious demons. Perhaps it was just Oz’s ever-worried mind conjuring up terrors, but it seemed an awful lot like Damien was getting overwhelmed.

Then there was a blood-curdling scream that echoes through the very depths of Hell, a sound of pain and rage that cut through Oz’s very core. The sound of Damien being wounded.

Oh, like fuck he was going to allow that to happen.

Fear and terror dwelling within him, Oz gathered it all in his core, swirling the storm of despair within him. He drew from every bit of fear among the demons around him, the terror of the dying and every petrified second that could turn into a fatal mistake, along with the background radiation of the terrified, tormented souls. It was intoxicating, and at any other time Oz might have been carried away by the sensation, drunk on the sheer power of it, but right now the greatest fear was in his own non-existent heart. Striking his fist against the ground, he burned every bit of all that fear and terror and sent it out into the raging battle.

What followed was a bit hazy, his consciousness split between the countless tendrils of slippery darkness that broke through every shadow, crack, and puddle of blood in the vicinity. His phobias grew to gigantic size, devouring any demon within reach of their gnashing teeth and grasping claws. Horrific apparitions sent even the most battle-hardened demons fleeing in terror, the scent of death and blood that filled the air turning into a heavy stench of decay and electricity.

Oz walked through the ensuing chaos with purpose, stretching taller and more horrifying with each hurried step through the demons both fallen and fleeing. The dark goo oozing from his footsteps burned the ground, too strong even for the blood-seared rocks of Hell.

“Flee, you pitiful creatures,” he growled, his words echoing from a hundred mouths in a thousand wailing voices that made the very foundations of Hell tremble. “Damien LaVey is mine, and anyone who would harm him will face terrors beyond imagination.”

The demons scattered from before him like grains of sand before a crashing wave. Oz didn’t pay attention to them, entirely focused on reaching the spot where he had seen Damien last. When he saw the crumpled heap of red, he almost thought he was too late. The roar that rose from somewhere deeper than than his throat shook his surroundings, waves of pure fear rolling off him.

“H-hey, noob. Cut it down… will you?”

At the sound of Damien’s voice, Oz deflated, shrinking back to his usual size even as terror and chaos reigned around them. He fell down to his knees next to Damien, carefully examining him. Aside from smaller scratches and bruises there was a deep wound on Damien’s side, bleeding freely. However, Damien was clearly conscious and breathing, and from previous experience Oz knew that was a good sign. As long as he was conscious, Damien could survive nearly anything out of pure spite.

“Don’t scare me like that, you idiot,” he murmured, trying to hold back his tears as he pressed down on the wound with both hands. A couple of phobias that were not busy terrorizing the battlefield were making concerned sounds around his arms. “I really thought — I was so afraid…”

“Yeah, well, seem to be making everyone else afraid instead.” Damien gave a painful-sounding cough, but he was still grinning. “Stop worrying, you shithead.”

That broke Oz’s resolve, all his anxiety and worries coming through as he broke into teary sobs. Damien didn’t seem to mind, setting a strong hand over Oz’s.

“Hey, mind withdrawing your fucking minions a little?” Damien’s voice broke through his tears. “Dad seems like… he’d like to get closer.”

Glancing up, Oz saw Lucien LaVey standing nearby, a concerned frown on his face while a few tendrils of pure fear tried their best to shoo him away. At any other time Oz might have admired his resolve for not having ran away already, but right now he didn’t have the energy to consider such things. Instead he drew nodded wearily at the protective tendrils, withdrawing them back into the ground. Lucien took a couple of wary steps as though to make sure the ground would hold, only to break into a run when it was firm under his feet.

The rest of the fears slowly withdrew back into Oz, leaving the battlefield a much emptier but no less horrifying sight. He didn’t pay any attention, though, too focused on his boyfriend. At some point Stan had reached their side at last, hefting Damien into his arms while Lucien kept working on healing the wound. Oz stumbled after them, utterly exhausted from having used more of his powers than he had in a long time. Possibly in longer than he’d actually had this corporeal form. Nobody tried to stop him, though, the royal guards actually keeping some distance from him, so that was fine. All he wanted was making sure Damien would be fine.

Some unknown period of time later Damien was all patched up and sprawled in his bed, snoring loudly. Oz was curled up in an armchair Stan had carried over for just that purpose, watching him closely for any signs of pain. A soft sound from the door drew his attention, and he looked up to see Lucien. Damien’s dad looked as exhausted as one could with rather lacking facial features, but there was a small smile hiding at the corners of his eyes.

‘You have done well today,’ Lucien’s voice echoed through Oz’s mind. ‘Damien is fortunate to have you. And we are even more fortunate that you were there to help him.’

Oz couldn’t form a proper response. All he needed was being allowed to stay here with Damien.

‘Sleep, dear thing. You have earned your rest, and our gratitude.’ Lucien spread a fluffy blanket over Oz. ‘We’ve all had enough fear for one day, don’t you think?’

It was hard to argue with Lucien’s soft mental voice, and even harder to resist the soft weight of the blanket. Oz felt his eyes slipping shut. Perhaps it would be fine to trust that his phobias would alert him if Damien got restless.

He would never stop worrying for Damien, no matter how often he was told to do so, but perhaps for this brief moment, he could rest.


End file.
